


We Shall Meet In All Directions

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-07
Updated: 2009-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry's beleaguered mind continues to deal with comforting hallucinations and stark reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Shall Meet In All Directions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hds-beltane.livejournal.com/profile)[**hds_beltane**](http://hds-beltane.livejournal.com/). The first request was used: _1\. BohemianSpirit wrote me a wonderful fic inspired by my art for hds_beltane last year. Fic link:[Merry Meet Again](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snapedom/172450.html) by [bohemianspirit](http://bohemianspirit.insanejournal.com/). In that fic, set immediately after the final battle, exhausted Harry dreams or imagines an intense Beltane ritual with Snape, whose death he had recently witnessed. Draco dances with Ginny as the Goddess and the God. Take off from there... I loved this story!_ **Note** : It might be best to read that fic first.  
> I hope whatever deviation there is from the original fic makes some sense.
> 
> The section titles are from a song by Elaine Silver, called [Calling All Directions](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sM9OujFW9L4). Many thanks to [](http://okubyo-kitsune.livejournal.com/profile)[**okubyo_kitsune**](http://okubyo-kitsune.livejournal.com/) for their unwavering support and to [](http://averisimilitude.livejournal.com/profile)[**averisimilitude**](http://averisimilitude.livejournal.com/) for the beta and tough love, and to the mod for their patience.

_1\. When I look to the east, I see sunrise..._

Harry found himself sitting on a strange mound, his knees pulled up to his chest, while his thin arms wrapped around his legs. He spent a few moments just blinking at the scenery; blades of impossibly green grass insisted on sticking curious sharp points through the material of his robe, and a single tree graciously offered as-yet unneeded shade. He noticed that the grass ended in a rough circle some meters away from his seated position, and sand abruptly took its place, arching up into a series of wind-swept dunes that undulated serenely into the distance. In the shimmering height of day, these dunes would probably glow golden in the sun; but the sky had that grey hint which signalled an impending dawn.

Even with all that sand, it was nicely quiet here, at least; the silence was a pleasant companion, a calm presence that was neither demanding nor intrusive. Harry turned his head from the right and back to the left, slowly. There seemed to be no other peaceful oases nearby; no one else beneath friendly trees, contemplating their strange location. Just Harry and the silence and a stealthy brightening in the eastern sky.

In the growing dawn, all was still and waiting… and Harry began to wonder, in a very vague manner, where he was. He didn't have the faintest idea, and when he tried to order his memories into something loosely coherent, he found that they were full of disturbing images: snakes, dark eyes, fire, falling chunks of debris… death. A _lot_ of death and he pushed these aside roughly. _It's over, everything's over,_ he told himself almost fiercely and pressed his forehead against his knees; he did not have to struggle so _hard_ anymore. There were other memories, he found, as he did a deeper search into his remembrance; in comparison with the first set of recollections, these seemed crisp and bright, as if they were experiences he had had quite recently. He had seen Malfoy, yes. Malfoy and he had been… smoking? Not only had they been smoking, but they had gone through what Uncle Vernon once called the 'giggle-weed', and that stash had belonged to Snape.

 _Snape._

He smiled briefly at that, and even chuckled a little, amused beyond measure at the thought. A slight wind sent a spray of sand into the grass near his trainer-clad feet, and he felt the gritty wave on the skin of his arms, exposed by the rolled-up material of the wide sleeves.

A sudden sliver of brightness was the single herald for the sun's rising; he held a hand over his eyes, and stared directly as the great bright disk came sliding up over the sandy rim of the world. His eyes did not burn and he didn't dwell too much on that; he held his breath and did not let it go as he watched the sun emerge.

He was unsurprised to find that his lungs made no complaint at this lack of air and Harry tightened his grip around his knees, closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling of the sunlight warming his face in increments. As the sun rose, the warmth started at his hairline and kissed his forehead, his nose, and his lips; even as the wind picked up, still cool and dry, the entire sensation was pleasant and almost loving, like a concerned mother. Well, as far as Harry could tell. He didn't have a very good example of a concerned mother, apart from Ron's mum, and while she had always treated him with concern and affection, he didn't quite remember if she had ever subjected him to a motherly kiss.

The sand shifted restlessly about him, urged into wandering veils by the wind; the silence, Harry's faithful companion so far in this strange landscape, was overtaken with gritty whispers.

"Well. I think that is quite enough," a voice said dryly beside him and Harry started so violently that he almost toppled over sideways. He looked up at the tall, black-clad figure that had appeared out of nowhere. In the sudden bloom of the morning, Snape seemed to repel the bright fingers of sunshine that tried to pull him in a warm embrace. As a matter of fact, Snape had his arms folded across his chest as he glowered at the joyful rising of the sun; apparently, this activity was a complete waste of his time.

Harry continued to stare up at him, unable to pull his gaze away; Snape returned this heavy inspection, looking at him in a sideways fashion, his black eyes informing Harry that whatever shenanigans he was currently involved in, Snape remained completely unimpressed as usual. His black hair shifted limply around his shoulders, and he tilted his face just a little more, continuing to stare down at Harry. He removed his hands from where they were tucked into his wide sleeves, and placed one on his hip, a finger tapping expectantly against the dark material.

Harry's gaze shifted from those narrowed dark eyes to the tapping finger. He stared at it for a very long time, before he realised that there were no stains on the nail, no discolouration of the skin.

" _What's_ quite enough?" he finally asked, sounding fairly waspish to his own ears. He actually didn't understand what Snape was talking about, really, but Snape just kept _staring_ and Harry remembered something was nearly shocking in its sensuality. His mind tried to step back hurriedly from the recollection, but it only seemed to drag it fully into the light: Snape in a green cloak, the Professor with _nothing else on_. He felt his cheeks grow warm at the memory; naked, Snape was scrawny, scarred and pale to an unsettling extreme, and yet he had been warm and thick and heavy on Harry's tongue, his scent musky and imprinted into Harry's nostrils.

Harry looked away quickly, trying to ignore the accusing weight of Snape's stare on the side of his face. Why had he _done_ such a thing? Better yet, why had Snape allowed him to do that? His mind skipped around and around those two questions, linked in a compelling dance.

"It is about time you got back," Snape finally informed him frostily, obviously unaware of Harry's inner torment. "You're wasting my time and energy, Potter, as always. I can depend on you to make every procedure as draining as possible."

"Leave me alone," Harry muttered sullenly; when Snape seized him by one arm and hauled him to his feet roughly, he yanked his arm out of that spider-fingered grasp and bared his teeth. Snape sneered in return. "I _knew_ you still hated me, no matter what you said," Harry told him, and stepped back from his imposing presence.

"So _fixated_ , Potter," Snape murmured with silky scorn. "And orally so, it would seem."

Harry's eyes went wide in his head and his cheeks felt as if they were burning. Snape _remembered_ the way he had knelt and--

"Leave me alone, you fucking bastard," Harry repeated through teeth that were clamped tightly together, more embarrassed than angry. "I thought you were dead. You made me think that you were _dead_."

Snape waved one hand carelessly in the air. "We've been through all this before, I'm quite sure of it. What you _thought_ , how you were _wrong_ and so on. Very well. Now, if you will listen to me and stop wasting your breath, it's about time you prepare to get back."

" _Leave_ ," Harry said forcefully; to his surprise, and Snape's as well, the tall figure suddenly transformed into a pillar of sand, and dissolved in the wind.

*

Severus Snape glared at the entire world as he was shoved out of Harry's tumultuous thoughts, and back into his own tired and beaten body.

"Professor Snape, here." Someone handed him a glass of water, and Severus pursed his lips. He took the glass without a word of thanks and sniffed suspiciously, ignoring the way his mouth felt as dry as sandpaper and tamping down on the urge to just drink. His nose determined that there was no obvious scent of poison; what didn't smell would usually have a slight flavour, and he took a careful sip: just water. Well, old habits died hard and old Potions'-masters died harder; checking like this when someone gave him something to drink was practically engraved in the forefront of his brain.

He drank some more and cleared his throat slightly, tightening his lips against the pain resulting from this formerly innocent action. The healing of his throat had been a long and tortuous ordeal, and Snape was in no mood to undo the delicate work of the Healers. He could feel the tautness of the skin of his neck, the jagged edges of his wounds held tightly against each other.

"Did you find Harry?" The person who had given him the glass of water was that insufferable Granger, and Severus gave her a very cool glance.

"I did."

"And?"

Severus just arched an eyebrow at her. Obviously, he wasn't going to inform anyone that he was unable to convince Potter to come out of the safe little landscape his damaged brain had furnished for him.

Severus had heard the boy crying in the bed beside him a few nights ago, and had frowned at the desperate sound. What had he been crying for? The little bastard had done his duty, as Severus had done innumerable times before. Everything was perfectly fine for him now; he would not have to stand before the Wizengamot to answer to charges of war-crimes as soon as he was well, his financial records and assets were not frozen and his name wasn't whispered in the halls outside with suspicious astonishment. All this crying was foolish, surely just another symptom of the brat's constant need for attention. Despite his mental grumbling he had turned over and stared at the slender young man fixedly, gathering his meagre stores of magic in case he had to send out a Patronus.

He had literally frozen when Potter had called his name, brokenly, holding onto the pillow ( _his_ pillow, for Potter had been placed in his own bed before Severus' drained body had been brought up to the Headmaster's private quarters as well). Potter had stirred weakly, opening his eyes and looking around with a resigned expression... until his gaze locked with Severus'. The green eyes blinked uninterestedly at him for a few seconds, then grew in size when he realised he had awoken out of his dream, and the person he had been calling for in his sleep was right in front of him.

Severus had not hesitated at all; he had cast _Legilimens_ without a qualm, not quite sure of his own logic. Images and sounds flew past him with that particular brightness of a very lucid dream. Severus saw himself... talking with Potter, and in a companionable manner to boot; here, he was dancing half-naked without a hint of self-consciousness; and here... _well_ ; Potter's mouth over him, awkward, grateful, quick.

He had been snapped out of Potter's mind, and had stared at Potter, a scathing comment on the tip of his tongue. Potter's eyes were closed again, his breathing fitful and shallow. Something was wrong with the boy; his magic flowed around him sluggishly, leaking in an alarming manner. Severus had summoned his Patronus, looked into the gentle, expectant face of the doe, and rasped, "Fetch a Healer."

*

"Ah. He's awake now. Open your eyes, Mr. Potter," someone requested and Harry really tried his best. He _did_ , but one eyelid seemed to slump down over his eye, and it did not want to obey Harry's commands. "Mr. Potter, can you try and stay awake?"

"Where's the sand?" Harry asked hoarsely and felt his own breath struggle past his throat; everything smelled so wrong. Too musty and old... and he could smell his own sweat, bitter and rising in layers to push at his nostrils. "Please." He wanted to shower, he was so hot. Through his opened eye, he could see muddled shapes of what seemed to be a group of people hovering over him. The colours of their clothing bled into each other, but Harry could tell that the nearest person was dressed in green robes and was probably a Healer.

A wave of agony centred in the middle of his forehead and seemed to spread out in waves over his scalp, cascading down his face; his body retaliated with goose-bumps. He shivered and tried to speak as the Healer's wand traced over his skull. His head throbbed and seemed to stretch around the pain; the Healer made a soft, displeased sound, and Harry felt a very sharp touch of her wand to his shoulder. The waves of pain receded to a manageable level and Harry hummed in appreciation.

"Harry," Ginny said in a soft voice next to him and although it hurt Harry to roll his single working eye to look in her direction, he still tried and felt a rush of triumph when he managed to focus on her. Her hair was as bright as a new day and Harry smiled vaguely. She had been lovely as she danced with Malfoy in that first dream ( _it had really been just a dream, right?_ ), her body painted as red as her hair by the firelight. His eyelid began to slide shut slowly. "Harry, no. Don't fall asleep again."

Harry wanted to say that he was trying his level best, but it seemed lost on the way from the back of his throat.

"This is a complete waste of time," Snape rasped from somewhere which part of Harry's mind understood as _over there_. Of course he would be here; Harry sometimes felt that Snape was more a part of Harry's life than Harry himself. He tried to chuckle at this contemplation and his body stiffened involuntarily at another wave of pain that started at the right side of his head this time, ricocheted to the left and then flooded down his body, right to the tips of his toes. As unrestrained magic lashed out from his pores, he heard something in the room vibrate ominously, and the Healer pressed her wand against his shoulder again. The pain was driven back once more, but not as far this time.

Snape spoke up once more, his voice rough and torn: "You know there's been damage to his brain, apart from that which was self-inflicted. He _had_ been dead, after all. It would be prudent to stop running unnecessary tests and actually do something."

"He was as dead as you were, Professor Snape," the Healer replied with the sharpness of one who had treated the prickly professor and had survived the ordeal. "And we ran the same level of tests on you. These tests are essential to his treatment."

Her words seemed... _spiky_ to Harry. He had no other way to describe the sensation; it was simply that her words seemed to have form and feeling, knife-edged protrusions and hidden alcoves between vowels. They hurt when they cut his hearing. Her stiff robes rustled as she made quick notes on a mess of parchment.

"He's out again," Ginny observed, her voice sad. _Am I_ , Harry thought abstractedly, and found that he wasn't too concerned about the answer. "What is it? What's wrong with him?" Ginny asked quietly and squeezed Harry's hand. To him, it felt like she was holding onto his shadow.

The Healer hesitated, and then said briskly. "According to our diagnostic spells, there is a lot of erratic magical activity centred in his brain, a likely result of surviving the Killing Curse. We'll have to stabilise that magic so that any damage is minimal. If we had known, we could have treated him sooner. Unfortunately, we didn't."

 _I open_ , Harry mused to himself. _I open at the close. I haven't been closed._.

"Marvellous," Snape said in a frosty tone of voice which implied that the situation was anything _but_ marvellous; then he coughed like a man who had been smoking all his life. Smoking. Harry's toes flexed under the hot white sheet, a quick spasm that he had no control over and he tried to giggle at the disconnected feel in his body. The only sound that came out was a longer exhale than usual. He was bemused to find that, like his lazy eye, the majority of his body seemed disinclined to cooperate.

"At least he had been trying to talk. That might be a good sign." That was Hermione. She sounded tired and worried.

 _All the king's horses, all the king's men_ , Harry's mind drifted through the smoke of his mind, _couldn't put Harry together again._

"And he looked at me. I'm sure he did," Ginny muttered and there was a series of sharp sobs. Harry tried to look at her once more, but his eyelids were having a strike. He let them do what they wanted and a golden light warmed his mind again.

*

 _2\. As I turn to the south, fires burning_

Harry let the beating of the unseen drums take over his heart, pulsing through the solid cage of his ribs as he sat on his little patch of grass. It was night now, and he gazed around at the many crackling bonfires, waiting expectantly. The grass had mysteriously expanded further, a pond of emerald overtaking the sifting grey mass that was sand.

He wanted to dance, but it would seem foolish to whirl around the fires by himself. He was waiting for Snape, he admitted, and continued to look for him in the shadows.

 _Legilimens_ , someone intoned; their voice seeming to emanate from the blades of grass at his feet, and a figure stepped out of the closest fire: a man, tall and slender and dressed in a long, green robe, the cowl pulled far over his head. Harry's heart raced for a moment, breathless anticipation curling warm in his chest.

"Mr. Potter?" The man peered at him curiously, coming closer. His face in shadow, but Harry was certain that this wasn't Snape. The voice was pitched just a bit too high, and the interrogative far too unsure. If it had been Snape, he would have said it with a sneering curl in his dark voice, positive of Harry's annoying position in the general scheme of things. The man pulled back the cowl, revealing dark eyes and dark hair, but this was not Snape at all.

"Who are you?"

The man gazed around himself, bemused at the mix of landscape. The wind moaned above his head and he looked up, blinking at the star-strewn sky. His eyebrows were lifted high when he finally returned his attention to Harry. "My name is Healer Ramchand. Do you know what has happened?"

"No, not really," Harry sighed and got to his feet, brushing at his bum with one hand, "but I guess you're going to tell me."

Healer Ramchand looked surprised at Harry's resigned tone, and then composed himself quickly. "Simply put, Mr. Potter, we've completed an emergency operation, and we've managed to diminish and isolate the overactive magical activity in your brain. It was causing a very serious disconnect at the level of what Muggle doctors call the neurotransmitters. You may have been experiencing some kind of sensory discomfort, accompanied by hallucinations. Yes?"

"I think so." Harry was afraid that he wasn't being quite helpful, but the Healer seemed content with his answer.

"Yes, we assumed so." Healer Ramchand appeared to be warming to his impromptu lecture and Harry hoped he wouldn't stay for too long. "In any case, it's well under control now. There may be some other after-effects, but we are not very sure of what these might be. You see, the human brain is still such a vast, unknown quantity, even to us with a magical scope of reference. This is actually a great learning opportunity for many of the Healers at St. Mungo's."

"Oh."

"It's _very_ fascinating, how all this had been caused by the Killing Curse, cast on you by the--" the Healer faltered, and then forged ahead bravely: "By Voldemort."

"Yes," Harry said with a dry smile. "Second time, now."

"Hmm. That is something to consider. _Interesting_ ," the Healer murmured to himself, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to peer inside Harry's head some more, and further whatever hypothesis he was developing.

Harry cleared his throat pointedly and Healer Ramchand blinked at him for a moment, before gazing around their position once more; Harry noticed that he had a long, narrow nose, slightly tilted at the tip (not large and hooked) and very thin eyebrows (not heavily imposing on the rest of his face at all). He was a fairly handsome man, and his well-formed eyebrows drew close together in worried conference as he focused on the fires. There seemed to be a hundred bright bouquets of dancing light, marching off into the darkness in rows that curved out in widening spirals; some of them illuminated the border where the grass met the sand, and in the flickering light, it seemed as if the grass was moving, as slow and as determined as molasses.

The fires dipped and swayed with the beating of the drums.

"Mr. Potter," Healer Ramchand said gently, returning those concerned dark eyes to Harry. "Do you know that this is not real? None of it is. The real world is anticipating your return."

"I know it's not real. I've known that for a little while now," Harry replied. He stretched up, trying to reach for the starry canopy above his head and the tips of his fingers brushed a satiny-soft surface. How wonderfully surreal. "But it's much better in here."

The Healer appeared dumbfounded, eyebrows now tilted at a shocked angle; Harry hurriedly added, because it only seemed proper, "But, um, thank you very much for all your hard work. You know. For saving my life and all that."

Healer Ramchand's extremely worried expression melted, and he looked quite pleased with himself. "It was my pleasure, Mr. Potter. _Our_ pleasure, yes, for a fairly large team was assigned to your procedure." He pursed his lips and then shook his head, "I can't force you out, Mr. Potter. That would undo all our hard work and set back the healing process. But please, come back as soon as you are able. Your life is waiting. _Finite_ ," and the firelight shone progressively brighter through his fading form, until he disappeared.

Harry remained where he was for a few moments after the Healer's presence was completely erased from the landscape around him. Then, he began to move slowly, awkwardly twisting his body to the persistent rhythm of the drums. He let his feet march in time with the deeper notes of the music, even though his arms felt useless. He had no one to hang onto; Ron, Hermione and his other friends were not in here, and he wasn't sure that he wanted them here as yet. He rallied on, tromping around the fires almost doggedly, rocking in time with the music. He held out his hands, closing his eyes tightly as he whirled, stumbling in a haphazard trail. Tears streamed down his face suddenly, shockingly hot against his cheek; he had lost so much and it seemed he had gained so little in return.

Then large, strong hands seized his narrow wrists.

*

 _3\. Flying on to west, wings outstretched..._

"Well?" Snape said derisively, but his eyes glinted out a challenge, and his hands were hot and dry against the skin of Harry's bony wrists. He gripped so tightly that Harry felt his own pulse pressing rhythmically against the scarred pads of his fingers.

"Are you real? The real Snape?" Harry asked doubtfully, and Snape's smile was displayed in all its crooked, yellowed glory. It was also probably the most genuine smile Harry had ever seen from him; but his eyes were hooded with a kind of contemplative hunger that Harry could not understand and yet completely comprehended at the same time. A slow want curled like dark smoke at the base of his stomach, warm and sweet like sun-warmed honey.

"Are _you_? What is 'real', I wonder? Greater metaphysicists than I have pondered such things." Snape released one hand and dragged him around one fire at a rapid walk, then turned and walked around another fire; and another, and another, forming some pattern which was unfamiliar and dizzying. Then he grasped both of Harry's hands again, and whirled him around briskly. Harry actually laughed at the wind whipping through his hair. Snape sneered at him, but it was without hatred.

"You never said if you've always really hated me or not," Harry shouted at him as they did it again: tracing around the fires and that exciting spin at the end.

"You never asked if I've always really hated you, Potter," Snape mocked, and the sinuous pattern went on.

"What is this dance called?" Harry asked, his feet finally beginning to understand the sequence. He had always found that if he did not think about it, as in Seeking, his body would do the best it could, which was always fairly adequate. "It's weird."

"Yes, quite," Snape said dryly, but he did not explain at all. Harry chanced a brief glance at other fires and realised that there were now shadowy figures jumping merrily about. Were these people he knew? He saw a bright flash of red hair, then a shock of white; he squinted.

"Pay attention," Snape scolded and they were pressed tightly together for a brief moment, chest to hip, Snape's larger fingers threaded with his own. Harry inhaled, warmed by the feeling of that thin, strong body and then Snape flung him out again, twirling him until Harry's head spun. "Come along, Potter, don't dawdle."

"I like this," Harry said breathlessly; his laughter pealed out over sand and grass as he was whirled once more. "Will you dance with me again? Another time, I mean."

"You seem terribly eager to have me as your partner," Snape smirked at him, his eyes sparkling with unholy mischief. Harry smiled a little sadly.

"You're not real," he decided. "The real Severus Snape isn't like this. I _wish_ , but… you're just something my imagination made up to keep me company, and the real you is still outside, waiting with everyone else."

"I suppose you're right, Mr. Potter. As I have said, what is real?"

"I'm glad you're out there and alive," Harry said fervently, gripping onto Snape's warm fingers as they pressed close again, and danced away, always joined by their hands. "Do you know that? I'm glad. I'm _glad_."

"I know."

"The thing is," Harry continued, "in here, you wouldn't tell me that you're far too old for me, and we would never have any kind of chance together." Harry ignored Snape's look of complete shock and pressed on with great determination. "I'm _tired_ of hearing I can't do this and that. All my life--"

"Complaining about life at your age is always seen as _very_ bad taste, Potter," Snape told him sternly and frowned. "And yes. I would say those things, they are correct. I am," he intoned prosaically as he slowed their steps, "not the best of men."

"It took a certain kind of man to do certain things." Harry grinned up at him, tossing his own dark hair out of his eyes. He was never this easily coherent in real life, and he was making the most of it. "Dumbledore wasn't stupid. He needed a snake to do a snake's job."

"And he sent a cub to do a lion's job." Snape rolled his eyes dramatically and his eyes fixed on something over Harry's shoulder. Harry looked back and saw the grass now overtaking the rolling dunes. Underneath the happy crackling of the fires and the steady hum of the wind, Harry could actually hear the sound of the grass _moving_ , overtaking that arid landscape with the promise of life.

"I think I would like a kiss," Harry told him seriously and Snape's frown was back in full effect. He shook his head and stepped away pointedly, but Harry went after him; this was _his_ mindscape, and if he was insane enough to want a kiss or more from a greasy, old Potions' Professor, he was damn well going to get it. He had done worse in other parts of his mind; he did not have to reach that far in order to recall the taste of Snape and he fought down a blush.

"Now," Harry repeated, "Now I want a kiss."

"Have you gone mad?" Snape asked with narrowed eyes, turning away slightly. "Don't be foolish."

"Scared?" Harry taunted, and stood right in front of him, tilting up his face. "You know you want to."

"Don't presume my tastes and wants," Snape snapped, but he did not move away. Instead, he bent his head very slowly, asking with a low voice: "A kiss comes with a price. One that is quite steep."

"I'll pay it." Harry stared up at him. "I've been paying all my life anyway, and for things I didn't even ask for."

One dark eyebrow twitched at this. "You have not heard the terms, foolish boy."

"I won't need to."

"Very well, Mr. Potter," Snape said and folded his arms right over his chest. Then he simply fell backwards, right into the heart of the closest fire. "Come and get it."

Harry shaded his eyes as the fire blazed upwards, spitting out multi-coloured sparks. He gazed around, alone once more. The grass had completely defeated the sand, and the stars seemed pleased at that.

Harry closed his eyes, and followed.

*

 _In the darkness I search for the North Star_

Harry awoke.

His head felt itchy, and when he reached up to touch it, he encountered a barrier that resisted the pressure of his fingers. Leaving the strange barrier alone, he let his hand fall back to its place by his side and considered the stone ceiling. He turned his head slowly, tracking a slight crack that traced its way right to the beam in the wall, then down the wall itself, stopping at the pointed arch of a window.

The window was slightly open, and even though his vision was completely fuzzy, he could make out the confident wink of a single star near the top of the window's arch. The room he was in was barely illuminated by a tiny candle, and when he turned to look at it, the small flame had a hazy, friendly corona.

He heard someone murmuring outside, probably Healers and his friends waiting in the sitting room. He felt fingers touch his brow, brushing away a fringe of hair that was far shorter than it should have been. Then warm lips brushed against his chin and mouth.

By the time Harry managed to turn his head in the direction of the kiss, Snape had already straightened from his bent position, arms folded once more over his chest and eyes fixed on Harry's face. His features were haggard, his skin almost grey in exhaustion and there were dark circles under his eyes; but Harry smiled in a watery manner at him.

"There is your--," Snape started out in a hoarse, scratchy voice, and swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving fitfully under the white bandages around his neck. "There," he managed to continue, "is your bloody kiss. Intolerable brat."

"Good," Harry whispered and turned his head to look for his winking star. "Since your price is supposed to be so high, then it's just the first of many."

Snape's glare spoke volumes; it promised instant doom, prolonged misery and excruciating pain if Harry even _thought_ about continuing down this idiotic course. Harry, who had spent a lifetime fighting without and within his own self, pondered the star and thought that this path would be enough.

 _Not perfect_ , he told the star mentally. _But enough_.

 _fin_

**Author's Note:**

> By now, most people _must_ know of my insatiable desire for fanart, and that was the gift I received for the exchange: [Strength](http://hds-beltane.livejournal.com/68562.html) by [](http://plotting-pen.livejournal.com/profile)[**plotting_pen**](http://plotting-pen.livejournal.com/). I love it.


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